


Rings and Strings

by ellebow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Asexuality, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebow/pseuds/ellebow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asexual Sherlock/Sexual John in a polyamorous relationship. John doesn’t understand it, but somehow he falls a little in love with Sherlock. And yet he’s just as in love with Mary as he’s ever been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rings and Strings

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song “With Whom To Dance?” by The Magnetic Fields.
> 
>  
> 
> _Rings and strings—_
> 
>  
> 
> _What use have I for these things?_
> 
>  
> 
> _Bells and carousels—_
> 
>  
> 
> _I'd just be fooling myself._

 It all starts with one of Mycroft’s barbs, flung with his usual cool disdain: “How would you know?”

Normally John would have just ignored it, but Sherlock’s stricken expression gives him pause. 

After the case is over, as Sherlock lounges on the couch plucking idly at the strings of his violin, John’s curiosity gets the better of him. “What did Mycroft mean, ‘How would you know?’”

Sherlock sighs, his eyes fluttering closed. “He meant that I’ve never had much . . . experience, with sex.” He wrinkles his nose as if he’s just tasted something sour.

John gapes at him, glad that Sherlock’s eyes are closed. “Wha—really?” he blurts, before he realizes how rude he’s being.

Sherlock cracks open one eye and raises an eyebrow at John. “You don’t have to pity me. I just have zero interest in it.” He yawns and stretches luxuriously, long limbs hanging off the couch.

“I—oh. Okay, then.” John realizes this is something he’ll have to figure out on his own. Any further questioning would seem like prying.

He later googles “no interest in sex” and finds the Wikipedia article for asexuality, which he’s heard of but never educated himself on. John scans it, and many puzzle pieces concerning Sherlock begin to fall into place. It explains Sherlock’s love of physical contact but disinterest in sex, the confusion he felt when confronted with the ultrasexual Irene Adler, and his rather disturbing habit of walking around the flat stark naked with no regard for whether John is in the room or not.

John isn’t sure what to do with this new information. Then he decides to just ignore it, since it’s hardly relevant. If it were truly important, Sherlock would have told him earlier.

That evening, as they’re having dinner at Angelo’s, someone makes a now-familiar remark about him and Sherlock. “How’s the date, goin’, then?” Angelo asks cheerily, setting down a candle and two glasses of wine.

Angelo whirls away before John can finish spluttering and protesting, so he turns his objections on Sherlock instead. “People are so _strange_ , don’t you think? Can’t two blokes just be friends?”

Then he sees the closed-off look settle like a cloud on Sherlock’s face and swallows his complaints. He hurries to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, John. Don’t worry about it.” Sherlock sets down his glass of wine and stares out silently at the street, his cheekbones sharp and cold in the candlelight.

John watches Sherlock’s face worriedly for the rest of the meal.

 

After that, John becomes hyperaware of Sherlock. He starts catching little affectionate gestures that he never would have noticed if he hadn’t been looking—an uncharacteristic tilt of the head, a sunny smile when no one’s around, a gentle hand massaging the kinks out of John’s shoulder when it seizes up. He sometimes catches Sherlock looking over at him with a half-melancholy, half-wistful look on his face when he’s in one of his dark moods.

John isn’t sure what to make of it at first. It seems rude to ignore it, but ruder still to bring it up. 

Then he starts noticing his own tiny demonstrations of affection. He’ll brush up against Sherlock in the kitchen while they’re both still bleary with sleep, with long, smooth touches against Sherlock’s robe-clad back or fond little pats on the shoulder when they’re crossing on the stairs. He bristles every time Anderson or Donovan attacks Sherlock for being a “freak,” even coming close to punching Anderson once when the insults get particularly ugly.

The implication of his deepening friendship with Sherlock makes John uneasy. He’s always thought of himself as heterosexual, and even now he feels no attraction for his consulting detective friend, only sincere and abiding warmth towards him.

John shies away from naming his feelings. Even aware as he is of Sherlock’s similar inclination, John figures it isn’t worth risking their close friendship to examine their relationship further.

 

A month later, John meets Mary Morstan. Or rather, Mary Morstan meets him when she seeks out Sherlock’s help with finding out what happened to her father, a soldier stationed in India, in a chain of events John would eventually call on his blog “The Sign of Four.”

Miss Morstan is a blond, petite young woman, but she soon displays a surprising determination in the search for her father. John takes to her cheery demeanor and sharp, dry wit immediately, and even Sherlock can find nothing negative to say about her, proclaiming her at least “reasonably intelligent.”

At the case’s conclusion and the arrest of the perpetrator, John begins dating Mary. He finds her company delightful—much more so than that of his many previous girlfriends—and Sherlock even endeavors to remember her name.

As far as he can tell, Sherlock makes no objection to his relationship with Mary. John notices that Sherlock’s wistful looks occur less frequently now, and he hopes that this is a good sign.

 

But one evening, after he’s dropped Mary off on her doorstep with a quick kiss, John decides to finally bring up the thing they’ve both been skirting around for weeks.

“Sherlock, can we—can we talk?” he begins, sitting down next to him on the couch.

“Of course.” Sherlock leans forward, head cocked and eyes filled with interest.

“I—well, I was just wondering—I know you’re asexual—” Sherlock gives a sharp nod in acknowledgement, “but I think, maybe, you might have feelings for me that go beyond mere friendship?” John cringes at his own awkward phrasing.

 

Sherlock is silent for so long that John begins to bite his lip nervously. Then he ventures, with unusual self-consciousness, “I think—maybe. I’m still not quite sure, since I’ve never felt this before, but—yes.”

John nods, heart pounding. “I still love Mary, but I think . . . I think I may love you, too. Somehow.” At Sherlock’s questioning glance, he adds hurriedly, “Not sexually, of course. But I do.”

Sherlock’s face cracks into a wide grin that warms John’s heart. “That’s good, then,” he sighs.

 

He tells Mary about it the next time he sees her. To his surprise and gratitude, she simply takes it in stride.

“I’ve known for a while, darling,” she says, waving off his apologies. “You’re obviously more than friends, with the way you go on about each other all the time.” She smiles at him and his heart does its usual acrobatic routine in response. “I don’t mind you loving him, as long as you can spare some love for me,” she explains.

When he kisses her, John thinks he’s the luckiest bloke in the world.

 

The next morning, Sherlock is babbling on about tobacco with his usual intensity, with five nicotine patches covering his arms, his eyes bright with passion.

John smiles and impulsively leans forward to press a gentle, hesitant kiss to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. He’s afraid to be too forward, in case Sherlock shies away like a skittish horse.

But Sherlock smiles up at him with stars in his eyes— _but it’s the solar system, Sherlock!_

John smiles back. “Pass the jam?”

 

And so life continues as normal at 221B Baker Street.


End file.
